‘I shall take the phone off the hook,’ I said unwisely.
‘If you start acting the goat, I shall get Suna, the stewardess, to come and keep an eye on you.’
It took several moments for the information to sink in. The Thai stewardess who found it difficult to write to her mother? ‘Suna?’ I repeated. ‘I thought she didn’t exist? She’s disappeared.’
Geoff Berry realized his mistake instantly, cleared his throat. ‘Some other woman, I mean. They all have such similar names.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ I assured him in honeyed tones, licking out the empty honey packet. It took all my acting skill. ‘I wouldn’t dream of going against your orders.’
‘That’s more like it, Jordan. You play it my way and we’ll get along fine.’
I hadn’t the slightest idea what he meant. Nor did he, I suppose. He always had a smooth tongue, saying things which had little meaning. They used to call him Cherry Berry in Latching CID which also had no meaning. Behind his back, of course. He had no sense of humour.
He switched off his mobile and I was relieved. I could only be polite to him for a limited time. About three and a half minutes.
I finished off the coffee, took the phone off the hook, and fished out the carrier bag of clothes that made up Phoebe Brown, the elderly, colourless female. She had little choice unless I raided the costume wardrobe again. There was no way I could leave A708 as Jordan. Miss Brown would have to make a hasty exit and start doing what she does best. Making a genteel nuisance of herself.
The corridor was empty. A day at sea meant a full activities programme for the passengers. They had so much to choose from. It was still too cold to sit on deck for long. A brisk walk round the promenade deck and then they went inside to a port lecture or play bridge, or simply drink coffee and talk.
Miss Brown was in much the same outfit as yesterday, plus a few extra shawls. The long Mary Poppins skirt, the woolly hat, the various scarves. And the specs. There was only my nose showing. And even that was disguised with a smudge of lipstick to give it a cold, alcoholic glow.
‘Ah, Miss Brown. Out and about already, I see, braving the elements.’ It was Staff Captain Hamish Duncan, as kind as always to stray passengers. I hated deceiving him because I liked him. He liked Jordan but he might not feel the same if he knew what I was doing.
‘I love the sea, you know. All that movement of churning and watery waves. The ups and downs. The troughs between the waves. It’s all so endlessly fascinating,’ I said, in tremolo. He’d recognize my normal voice.
He seemed surprised. ‘I didn’t know you were so eloquent about the sea, Miss Brown,’ he said. ‘But take care. It’s still a bit rough.’
‘I’m looking for a gentleman,’ I went on. ‘A very grey sort of gentleman. By himself, I think. Thinning hair, sort of remote. Doesn’t mix much. Always on the fringe of things. A bit like me,’ I added.
‘Strangely enough, I think I know who you mean,’ said Hamish. ‘I’ve noticed him at a few parties, always on the edge. But he wasn’t on deck for the midnight sun fun and games. Far too sensible. Long taken to his bed.’
‘Do you know who he is?’
‘No, sorry. It’s impossible to learn everyone’s name. Only the charming ones,’ he added with the slightest incline of his head. He moved on swiftly. He didn’t want to be stuck with me till lunch time.
So the grey man did exist. He had been noticed. If Hamish had spotted him so maybe had others. I needed to do a bit more digging. My first round was the bars, again. Miss Brown would be getting a reputation.
I traded my customary orange juice for pineapple juice. But all this liquid consumption soon began to pay dividends. Apart from going in and out of the loos. Yes, the grey man had been noticed by the bar staff, drinking alone, rarely speaking. His favourite drink: vodka and apple juice.
It wasn’t much to go on, an unusual drink. But the bar staff were brilliant. Yes, they remembered him, always on his own, drank quite a lot, unsociable. They could not remember his name or cabin number. He smoked, they said, and had to leave the bar for the smoking room.
Somehow I had to look at the bar receipts for the last few days, to look for the same name cropping up. A big order. How was I going to manage that? I needed help. A master plan. Bill Quentin.
Bill was in the cafeteria, surrounded by empty cups of coffee and sheets of paper. He nodded towards the seat opposite, half rising. Bill was in his usual layers of sweaters and fleece. He’d never stand the Antarctic.
‘Miss Brown. Charmed to see you. Like a cup of coffee? You look as if you need something.’
‘Thank you, Mr Quentin. What are you doing?’
‘The four skills of detecting are statements, interviews, recording, collating and I’ve interviewed practically everyone who was at the midnight sun quoits tournament. I’ve checked and rechecked statement against statement. Often a small, neglected item is the one that produces results. And these results are interesting.’
I sat down with a cup of black coffee, not waiting to hear those interesting results. I needed an adrenaline boost. ‘And I’ve discovered that we have a mystery man aboard. A grey man who appears on the edge of photographs. Can you help me find out who he is? I’ve discovered he drinks only vodka and apple juice. He tours the bars at night, always alone. I need to look at the bar receipts. How can I do that? He also smokes. Can you help me?’
‘Ah, I have a friend in accounts who might be persuaded to allow me to look at his computer records. I would not dream of asking if I could look at them without good reason, but if I take him into my confidence, make him an associate of sorts. He might be persuaded.’
‘Terrific. Let me know as soon as you know anything. It could be important, it could be nothing.’
‘I know the feeling.’
‘You are much nicer than I first thought,’ I said.
‘It’s a well-kept secret,’ he agreed.
At that moment there was the strangest grinding noise from nowhere. And a shudder that vibrated through the entire ship. The coffee on the table slid a few inches, then stopped. We looked out of the window and saw that the Double O was not moving. She was rocking but not moving. ‘We’ve stopped,’ said Bill. ‘Let’s go and find out why.’ We went up on deck, bracing the cold. A few passengers had noticed the change but the other several hundred were busy doing what passengers do best, eating, drinking and talking. We hung over the rail, staring at the waves, wondering why we were not moving. Nothing was happening down below. The waves were splashing against the hull very much like the tide moving in towards the sloped shingle on the beach at Latching.
‘What’s happening?’ I asked a passing officer.
‘Nothing to worry about, ma’am.’
Routine assurance. They did it so well. They were trained for all emergencies and I had a feeling this was an emergency. I could feel a tenseness in the air. The huge ship was at a standstill and there was nothing obvious, no refugees waving from a dingy, no luxury yacht in distress, no man overboard.
‘But we are not moving,’ I said.
‘Probably checking the engines, ma’am,’ he said, before moving on.
The tannoy came on. ‘Midday watch on air. Midday watch on air. I repeat, midday watch on air.’
‘That’s a coded message to the crew,’ said Bill Quentin, pushing me away from the rail. ‘It means something entirely different. Go forward, to the front of the ship. Move, Jordan.’
We began to move against the surge of curious passengers hurrying to the rails. The grapevine had been working faster than any message from the captain. They knew something was wrong and wanted to see what it was. Videos were out and switched on, fodder for winter parties. Maybe dolphins or whales.
The decks were rocking but not level. There was a slight tilt. I could feel the difference beneath my feet. Before we reached even the furthermost deck, it was obvious that the Double O was in trouble. The great ship had gone aground. She was not moving and her deck was t
ilted.
‘Do you know where we are?’ I asked.
‘Somewhere near the Vallesgrund, I think. Part of the North Sea that is notorious for sailors and ships. Near Bird Island.’
Suddenly I was nervous. Bird Island. It broke my dream. I had dreamed of an island covered in birds, not exactly like the Hitchcock film, but an island that had disintegrated beneath my feet and became a seething mass of live feathers. Fragments of the dream flooded into my head.
‘Something’s wrong,’ I cried out. ‘It’s broken my dream.’ ‘Too right, my girl. Let’s get away from here.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t ask why, do as I say. And don’t look. Over there, by the lifeboat, on his own, is a grey man. Don’t let him see you.’
NINETEEN
Aground
The Orpheus Odyssey was aground. It was stuck, not caught in the reeds. The rough waves were still crashing round her hull. It was stuck all those metres down on some unexpected high ridge in a shallow seabed. The ship was out at sea but nearby was an island, a craggy rocky cliff-face swarming with thousands of seabirds.
‘Is that our man?’ I asked as Bill turned and moved away, not hurrying. He didn’t want to draw attention.
‘I’d say it was. But let’s hope we can find someone to identify him.’
‘Let’s elicit the help of a friendly bar steward. Let’s see if a vodka and apple juice tempts him.’
Bill left me looking at Bird Island. He returned, closely followed by a steward with a tray. On it was a tall glass, the ice glinting in the cloudy liquid. He went towards the distant figure standing alone. There seemed to be some conversation, then the man took the glass and signed a chit.
Bill nodded. ‘It’s worked. He’s taken the drink and signed for it. Now we only have to see what name he’s using.’ ‘You don’t think he’s using his real name?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘That looks like a nesting cliff,’ I said, trying to assume we had nothing to do with this small incident. ‘Is this a deliberate port of call? Something different, something to surprise us? One of the captain’s jokes.’
‘I doubt it. We are aground. Look at the activity. The crew are rushing about everywhere. All hands on deck.’
‘Perhaps this is a good time to make our more sensitive enquiries, separately.’
‘Atta, girl. Go to it. See you around.’
Bill was gone in a moment, merged with the passengers crowding on deck to find out why the ship was not moving. I was on my own. The island looked wild and untamed. The ship felt wild and untamed. The captain was not in control, nor the crew. The ship had done this grounding thing all on her own. She was using her own will. We were both on our own. I ran my hand along the rail, touching her, trying to reach her soul.
‘We’ll be all right,’ I whispered to the ship. ‘You and me together. Don’t panic.’
The captain’s voice came over the loudspeaker, clear and calm. ‘This is Captain Armitage, speaking from the bridge. As you are aware, the Orpheus Odyssey is not moving. This is a purely temporary situation and we will be on our way as soon as possible. In the meantime, carry on enjoying yourself and leave it to the crew to get us moving again.’
There was some sort of crackle over the loudspeaker, then the captain spoke again. I could hear the birds flying to and from the island, twittering and wings flapping, a chorus of wild life, disturbed by the strange new image so close to their sanctuary, big and menacing.
‘I do assure you that the Orpheus has not broken down. It is in perfect working order. Our engines are in tip-top condition. No navigational problems. It’s a very minor hiccup and we shall soon be on our way.’
Like being aground is only a minor hiccup. There was another crackle over the loudspeaker and a different voice joined in the announcements. No sign of panic as yet.
‘This is your security officer Geoff Berry speaking. This is a request for Miss Jordan Lacey to make herself known to a member of the crew. When she will hear something to her advantage. Miss Jordan Lacey. We have some good news for you. Very good news.’
There was an air of false sincerity to his speech. I didn’t believe a word. He was lying through his amalgam fillings.
Somehow he had discovered that I was no longer in the stateroom and he wanted to find me, fast. Good news, my foot. Jordan Lacey was going to run aground too. I would miss the shower, the comfortable bed, the daily supply of ice and Ali’s good care. No more thick white towels or sitting on the balcony. Phoebe Brown would have to wash in the ladies’ loo and use paper tissues to dry off.
Miss Brown’s capacious handbag held everything I might need for a short time. My notes, a toothbrush and some mascara. It was a habit to carry mascara although Phoebe did not use eye make-up, only a pale foundation to fade out the eyebrows. Tomorrow would be different, but like Scarlett O’Hara, I’d worry about that tomorrow.
Staff Captain Hamish Duncan was also hurrying along the deck going towards the bridge. I could not resist stepping in front of him. A look of resignation flashed across his face but he stopped politely. The thick glasses guarded my eyes.
‘What’s happening, Captain?’ I asked tremulously, giving him instant promotion. I’m so worried.’
‘Nothing to worry about, ma’am. Everything is under control. Now, if you don’t mind. I’ve a lot to do.’
‘I have every confidence in you.’
‘That’s very reassuring.’
Hamish was away before I could thank him. He had evasion down to a fine art. I was still deceiving him. It was unforgivable. Someday I would have to make it up to him in a roundabout sort of way, something clever and subtle. It was beyond my currently frozen imagination to think up how. James was here. He’d know what to do.
Of course, if the hull of the Orpheus was holed, we’d be donning life jackets any moment and herded into the lifeboats. The lifeboats were not heated. But rows of body heat would help. My life jacket was in the stateroom. There must be spares on the lifeboats.
‘Where are we?’ I asked, waylaying another member of the crew.
‘Norskehavet.’
I’d asked the wrong person.
It was easy to spot the doctor. Max Russell was going somewhere with his medical bag, making a cabin visit. Some poor soul who didn’t know whether the ship was moving or not, nor caring very much, if they were spending most of the time hung over in the bathroom.
‘Dr Russell,’ I said. ‘No one will tell me. Has the ship been damaged? Has she been holed?’
‘No, of course, not. We are quite safe. It’s only a minor disruption. We shall soon be on our way and heading for Bergen. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a cabin call to make.’ He turned on his heel, ready to continue on his way.
‘I’ve just seen Jordan Lacey, that young woman with all the sort of reddish hair, the one they are advertising for,’ I said with instant inspiration. ‘She asked me if I knew what was the good news waiting for her. Do you know what it is? She’s dying to know.’
Max Russell stopped abruptly. ‘You’ve seen her? Where is she? This young woman, Jordan Lacey? You’ve spoken to her?’
‘Why, yes. I saw her only moments ago. She was jogging on the promenade deck, keeping fit, I expect. She has such a lovely figure. Wearing a pretty blue track suit and all that hair, tied back with a ribbon. She was going round and round. Quite made me giddy.’
Max Russell was on his phone immediately. He turned his back on me. Not very polite when I’d been so useful.
‘Berry? She’s on the promenade deck, jogging. Blue track suit.’
There was a pause and I wondered what Geoff Berry was saying. I couldn’t hear a word. He was probably marshalling his forces for a full-scale invasion of the promenade deck. It would be organized on police terms, lots of plastic tape cordoning off the area. He didn’t have any police dogs.
‘I’ll ask my informant,’ said Max. He turned to me, seeing only the shapeless bundle of Miss Brown. ‘Do you know what time this was,
when you saw Jordan Lacey?’
‘About ten minutes ago, I think, I mean … I don’t exactly know,’ I said, getting all flustered. ‘Is it important? Is the young lady in trouble? She is such a nice person. Very kind and always a pleasant word.’
‘Yes, yes,’ he interrupted. ‘But can you give me the exact time?’
‘Oh dear. I’m sorry, I-I really can’t remember. I’m not very good with times. So much has been happening with the ship stopping and everything. I didn’t give it a thought.’
He was not looking at me which was a relief. I couldn’t disguise my eyes. He might recognize them from the time when he had gazed into them with interest. Where had that nice doctor gone? He had vanished and yet I was not usually wrong about people. Something must have happened to change his attitude towards me, towards Jordan Lacey in particular. I couldn’t think what I had done to earn his displeasure. One minute he was buying me a brandy with intent, and the next he couldn’t bear the sight of me.
‘No, she’s still here.’ He handed me his phone. ‘The security officer wants to talk to you.’
‘Oh dear, no,’ I said, my hand fluttering to my throat. ‘I couldn’t. I wouldn’t know what to say to him. He’s very important, isn’t he?’
From past experience in court cases, I knew that it’s never a good idea to talk too much when giving evidence. It’s only too easy to be tripped up by the defence counsel, easy to say too much which doesn’t quite tie up with your original story or the facts.
Max handed me his phone impatiently. ‘Just tell him what you’ve told me.’
I took the phone, then pretended to fumble it and cleverly disconnected the line. ‘Hello … hello … Oh dear, I am sorry, there doesn’t seem to be anyone there. I can never get the hang of these new-fangled contraptions. Now, I must just spend a penny … ’ I wandered off, leaving a furious looking Max to take back his mobile in disgust at my total incompetence.
The ladies cloakroom was empty. Everyone was on deck, not wanting to miss a moment of the drama. There was an air of apprehension among those who understood what was going on or not going on.
Fold and Die (Jordan Lacey Mysteries Book 8) Page 16
